


This Counts

by Eagle_Grass_16



Category: Mermaid Melody Pichi Pichi Pitch
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Emotions, F/M, Kissing, Loneliness, Love, Understanding, they didn't die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 18:19:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14774754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eagle_Grass_16/pseuds/Eagle_Grass_16
Summary: When Gaito's castle crumbled and was swallowed by the ocean, Sara chose to follow him. This is when they didn't die.





	This Counts

**Author's Note:**

> I know this is probably a really really really old fandom by now. And that it's probably super obscure. But whatever.
> 
> The first time I watched the anime was in first/second grade and I never actually watched the entire thing. I was rewatching it and today I got to episode 52 and Gaito's demise and Sara's decision was just heart-wrenching to me, so I wrote this.
> 
> Honestly, though, I cringed so hard for most of the rewatching process because THE DIALOGUE IS SO CRINGEY AT TIMES. But childhood memories. So.

His palace is in ruins, cracks spiderwebbing over once-regal walls, crumbled pieces of basalt littering the floors. Feeble tendrils of magic feed the flickering lanterns, barely keeping the space from the complete darkness of the ocean floor. Cold, heavy water weaves through crevices, raking its fingers past now-empty rooms, carrying a chill with its bitterness.

His palace is in ruins, and so is he.

There is no longer anything for him to do, no longer anything that he _can_ do. Here, buried by the water and robbed of magic as he is, he wonders if he even really exists, if he had ever really existed. The silence of the deeps is a dull roar wrapping him among its folds, a blanket devoid of warmth. He feels raw, as if his skin has been torn from him along with his power when the mermaid princesses had sung their new song and shoved the pathetic realities of his goals in his face--the pointlessness, the inanity.

He remembers the humiliation--his own brother had looked at him with _pity_ \--but isn't sure if he cares about it anymore. His comrades, however shallow and ineffective they’d been, had given up their magic for him, and yet it hadn't been enough-- _he_ hadn't been enough. He sees, now, that the goals he’d spent his life pursuing are nothing more than delusions: fragile visions that are unfit to exist outside of dreams and nightmares, fantasies built of ashes and decorated with smoke.

He’d been so naïve.

Soft fingers comb through his hair--Sara, standing behind the splintered throne in which he sits. Knots in his chest, tying together the ends of broken threads, often tangling. Gaito is caught between being relieved by her presence and feeling guilty for dragging her along to this misery, this nothingness.

“Do you remember when we first met, Sara?”

The fingers pause, then resume brushing. “Yes.”

“... There’s nothing to do here,” Gaito murmurs.

Sara makes no reply, which Gaito takes to mean that she agrees.

“This castle is pathetic, isn't it?”

“It hasn't collapsed yet.” Her fingers trace soothing patterns over his skull.

“... I thought I would die,” Gaito says.

“I thought you would, too.”

“And yet you came.”

“And yet I came,” she agrees.

“There’s nothing here,” he says again.

“Yes.”

“I kind of wish I’d died. I was prepared for that, at least.”

The fingers halt for a moment. “... I don't wish you had died.”

“I don't have anything to give you. I can't give you anything.”

“I’m not asking for anything from you.”

“What am I doing here?” he wonders aloud.

“I don't know.”

Gaito reaches up and grabs the hand in his hair. Gently, because he’s afraid that she’ll disintegrate like his palace and his dreams, because he’s afraid that she’s not real.

She doesn't crumble. Her skin is solid beneath his--warm. She’s the only thing here that’s real.

“Did you follow me because you pity me?” he asks quietly.

“No,” she answers.

“I don't want you to pity me.”

“... I don't pity you.”

His fingers tighten around hers. “Why did you come after me?”

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?” A hollow laugh. “You’re acting conceited again, Sara. I didn't do everything I’ve done for _you._ ”

“I know,” she says. “But enough of it was because of me.”

“You’re wrong,” he replies. But he doesn't know if he lies.

“Maybe,” she allows.

“... You know, right?” he asks.

“Know what?”

“This--” He brings her hand in front of his face and presses it to his lips. Her fingers are somehow warmer than his mouth.

“...” She makes no reply.

“That I’m in love with you,” he clarifies, unnecessarily. “Or what counts as love for someone like me.”

Her voice is feather-light when she answers. “... Yes.”

“Is that why you came after me?”

“... Partly.”

“How do you mean that?” he asks. “That you came because I love you? Or because you--or the other way around?”

“Gaito,” she says. The way she says his name pulls at him; he’s always liked it--this is something that hasn't changed, at least.

“Yes?”

The angle of her arm changes as she walks around to the front of his broken throne. Their joined hands settle on his lap when she drops to her knees before him--not as a submission of power. No, she is like a mother kneeling down so that she is at the same height as her child.

 _That child being me,_ Gaito thinks, strangely amused. There is warmth with her, always, however cold she may be. She is always warmer than him, and even her ice burns hotter than his rage.

He waits for her to speak.

“I came because I chose to,” she says. “This is a decision I made myself, Gaito.” She hesitates. “But you’re not asking about that.”

“... What am I asking?”

“You’re asking about my reasons. You're asking why I chose this.”

His heart--he has one; sometimes he’s surprised that he has one--tightens. “And?”

“You’re asking if I love you.”

“And?”

He sees her swallow. Her chest rises and falls as she breathes. She meets his eyes. “I loved Mitsuki Tarou, and I hated him. And then, when the other princesses came for him--when they came for _me_ \--I realized I shouldn't hate him. There’s nothing to forgive, and so I forgave everything.”

“You were part of my revenge, Gaito. My revenge at something that didn't ever warrant a revenge. The first time I came to you was because I hated, and yet I didn't know what to hate, so I wove my hatred with your hatred and cast the net over the whole of humanity. I stayed then because we both hated--blindly, you have to agree--and we’d both made ourselves alone. So pathetically alone.”

“Is it possible to love someone whom you sought because of hate? I don't know. Just like I don't know if it’s possible to stop loving someone whom you hated because you loved too hard, too irrationally. Even now, Gaito, I remember his touch--his music washing over me like the tenderest of waves, the way his voice calls my name, the texture of his hair and lips. I remember, too, his absence; I remember my anguish.”

“But--I’m drawn to you, Gaito. My actions ought to have spoken that much. Hate is a precarious thing, I think. Something that requires careful nourishing--and we hated together.” She takes a breath. “I know you, Gaito, and I think I know you better than anyone else. Does that make me sound conceited again?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head, voice barely a whisper. “No, it doesn't.”

And she smiles, and the sight steals his breath, his heartbeat. He has never seen her smile like this: sincere, unburdened, vulnerable but unafraid.

“I don't know if I can ever love anyone the same way I’d loved Tarou. But I left him because I couldn't bear the thought of you falling by yourself. I left him because he won't be alone, but you will. I left him because I chose you, even though I’ve only ever known your hate and you mine.” Her fingers curl over his. “I think this counts,” she says, tentatively, “as love.”

Gaito inhales sharply, almost painfully. He is at once happy and hurting and somehow he doesn't mind the peculiarity of the combination. He laces their fingers together and tugs, and Sara--strange, beautiful Sara with bright orange hair that burns like flames--rises and leans forward and their foreheads touch. Her other hand reaches up and dances over Gaito’s cheek, sliding into the threads of his hair. Warm, like the rest of her.

He presses into her touch, seeking comfort, seeking solace, seeking understanding. She gives them all to him.

Their mouths brush together hesitantly, uncertainly. The newness is not unwelcome. The kiss tastes of the salt of the ocean but her lips carry a sweetness that makes him both content and wanting for more. His free hand reaches around her and slides up her back, under her hair, to rest at the bare skin of her neck, deepening their kiss. He feels her smile against his mouth, and the curve of her lips is magical to him--he thinks, then, that he just might be fine without his magic, after all.

When she pulls back, he keeps her close. They look at each other and they _see_. Gaito hasn't ever felt seen the way he feels now, with her apricot eyes centimeters from his, their breaths mingling in water, strands of her hair draped over his fingers.

His palace is in ruins, and so is he, but somehow, in that moment, Gaito is grateful that he is alive.

 

 


End file.
